


Portable Safe House

by ArgentLives



Series: live in gal pals [42]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:36:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/pseuds/ArgentLives
Summary: When just stepping outside the door isn't safe anymore and you're constantly on the move and fighting to survive, it's nice to have a person you can call home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt: "things we said when everything was going to hell"

“Well, at least there’s a proper kitchen here.”

“What?” Iris blinks, tearing her gaze away from out the window, letting the curtains fall back into place and blocking out the now constant horror show of their lives on the other side of these walls. There’s a clatter from somewhere in the still-unfamiliar house, and instinctively, her hand goes to the knife strapped to her hip. It goes with her everywhere, except whatever bed they end up in, if they’re lucky enough to find a bed – Linda’s still adamant about that rule – and even then it’s still within reach. Another _clang_ , and she forces herself to move. She’s always already on high-alert, so it doesn’t take much for her shoulders to stiffen, for her fingers to tighten around the knife’s handle. “What was that?”

“Relax, it’s just me,” Linda calls from rougly the area where the noise must’ve come from. Iris, of course, does not relax. Relaxing is a luxury they haven’t had since this whole thing started. “I’m in the kitchen.”

Warily, Iris follows the sound of her voice, and finds Linda hard at work already, raiding the cabinets – not just for food, but pulling out pots and pans as well. There’s a distincly pleased look on Linda’s face, and Iris can’t help but smile, thinking that at least some things haven’t changed. 

She’s lost count of the number of always-abandoned houses they’ve taken refuge in since the apocalypse began; they never really stay anywhere for more than a few days. It’s not safe. But they’d gotten strangely attached to the last place they’d stayed at, and it had started to feel just a little bit like home. They’d stayed there for a couple of weeks, and they knew full well what a risky decision it’d been, but Iris can’t bring herself to regret it when she thinks back to those stolen moments with Linda in what almost had the potential to become their bedroom, before they’d been forced to keep moving. To survive.

That’s why this place feels so wrong, Iris thinks. She misses their not-quite-home already. But Linda seems to be taking it in stride, and really, as long as she has Linda by her side through all of this, that’s all she really needs. “You do realize there’s no electricity, right?” Iris points out, taking in the room around her and carefully catolguing her new surroundings. “I don’t think it really makes much of a difference whether it’s proper or not.”

“Psh,” Linda waves her off, beaming at a can of strawberry preserves she pulls out of the back of a cabinet, before setting it on the counter with something bordering on reverence. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll make do. People always raid all the easy food in these places and leave the ingredients; I can totally work with that. Somehow. I mean, fire’s a thing that exists. Plus it’s a comfort thing for me, Iris. I can’t stress bake anymore, but I can…pretend.”

“Yeah, okay,” Iris says, knowing better than to argue, and shuffles closer to Linda. She hooks her chin over Linda’s shoulder as Linda continues to rifle through the cabinets. “But I can think of better things we can do for comfort in these trying times.”

Linda twists around so that she’s trapped against the counter by Iris’s arms, and rolls her eyes, clearly fighting back a smile. “Oh, real smooth, West. I think the lack of human interaction outside the two of us is making you lose your touch.” 

“Are you turning me down, then?” Iris asks, amusement sparkling in her eyes because she already knows the answer. She runs a hand through Linda’s short-cropped hair – messy and uneven and so unlike her old style, but still nice in its own way and far more convenient – and rubs her thumb across a streak of dirt on her cheek with the other. 

Linda scrunches up her nose, turning to hide her face into Iris’s palm, and pouts. “…no.”

“Didn’t think so,” Iris laughs, leaning in to kiss her with hopelessly chapped lips, a metallic taste on her tongue that she’s long since given up trying to get rid of. It’s in the air, all the time, these days. 

For the moment, though, with Linda right here, she feels safe.


End file.
